


Cut Flowers and Books

by SerAnneliese



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: DMC Secret Santa, F/M, Secret Santa 2020, happy holidays!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerAnneliese/pseuds/SerAnneliese
Summary: Like fathers, like sons.
Relationships: Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry)
Kudos: 34





	Cut Flowers and Books

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the DMC Secret Santa exchange on Tumblr! This is my gift for @ricemattie, who confided their Vergil bias, and also one of their favorite ships being Nero/Kyrie. I need more domestic Vergil in my life and I hope y'all would agree. Happy holidays to all!

“... What the hell?”

Entering his own house was never really much of an adventure, but Nero had to hand it to today: it sure had some surprises.

In the common area, lit by the lamp in the corner, sat Vergil, chin to his chest. On his lap was a book-- probably something boring and expensive-- gently earmarked to save his place. His arms were crossed and he breathed quietly, intently asleep. Intensely, even. How did the guy do everything so seriously?

The chair nearest to his was vacant so Nero made his way to the kitchen, keeping his footsteps as even as he could. This week, the kids were staying at the orphanage, so there was no one home besides him, Kyrie, and his father. Which wasn’t saying much, considering Vergil hardly stayed in one place.

In the kitchen, Kyrie was cutting the stems of flowers and placing them into a vase of water. She greeted him with a smile, turning to her task as he approached.

“He always done that?” Nero asked, voice low. Kyrie knew what he meant and shook her head.

“Not often. I don’t think he really needs to, but I guess sleep catches up with everybody at some point.”

Nero nodded to himself, remembering the bags under his father’s eyes. Genes, he guessed. Kyrie continued.

“He’s always reading so much, ever since he and Dante came back. He went through my library in a week.”

“So he’s, what, chopping up demons during the day, going to the bookstore in his spare time?”

She shrugged smally, placing another flower into the small arrangement.

“A lot of them weren’t his taste.”

Kyrie, for all of her kindness, enjoyed the cheap thrillers you’d see at the store checkout stands. Not very enticing for the son of the Devil.

Turning to him, Kyrie placed a hand on his face.

“He’s quite well-informed about books. Even though he claims to dislike them, he’s read most of mine before. I think he reads too quickly for his own good.”

Nero couldn’t hide his confusion anymore. Kyrie smiled at him, hands clasped in front of her.

“You should talk to him. I think you two would get along.”

“Yeah, when he stops being a dick.”

His eyes went to Kyrie’s, looking down then back up in apology.

“Sorry.”

She continued.

“I know you don’t have the best relationship…”

Nero nodded, jaw working.

“... But I know you have a lot of questions for him, and Dante hasn’t answered anything.”

“He never has. That old man is too stubborn for  _ his _ own good.”

“They’re hurt, Nero. Just like anyone. But they never learned to process their pain, so this is how they know to cope. Even just talking to one of them, you can see it in their eyes.”

Kyrie was looking down now, wringing her fingers.

“Dante passes it off as bravado very well, and Vergil, too. But wanting to know and wanting to understand have to be two things that exist together.”

Nero thinks on that, leaning against the counter beside her.

“You seem to know an awful lot about Vergil.”

“We talk,” she answers, a light in her voice. “When the evening gets slow and we’re alone. Mostly, he just reads in silence, and I’ll read, too, or knit. He doesn’t say anything when he gets back, and I don’t ask. He’s funny, you know. He speaks very well, and measures his words, but doesn’t say very much unless it’s to recite something. Then, he can tell you meters of poems-- sometimes the whole thing! It’s quite remarkable.”

Nero looks at her, eyebrows gently relaxing.

“Kinda like you.”

She pushes some of her hair behind her ear, pursing her lips. He lifts a hand to her chest and picks up her necklace, kissing it tenderly and letting it fall back around her neck.

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

She leans in and he presses his lips to her forehead, rubbing her arm assuredly.

Back in the two recliners, Vergil sits awake, book in one hand, chin resting on the other. He flips the page, eyes not looking up as Nero approaches.

“You’re in early today,” Vergil says without pretext. He’s still got his jacket on like he came back and sat right down. Nero looks around, awkward.

“Short day, I guess. Nothin’ much going on around here.”   
Vergil doesn’t acknowledge him, instead continuing to focus on his reading.

Tapping his hands on his thighs, Nero makes for the other chair, settling into the quiet atmosphere. Too quiet, he thinks.

A few moments pass, Nero in thought, when Vergil speaks again.

“You’re tapping.”

“What?”

“Your boots. You’re tapping them on the ground and it’s distracting,” he repeats, eyes finally moving to look in his periphery. Nero has the feeling it’s not the first time he’s side-eyed him.

“Maybe put down the book and talk like a person?”

Nero knows he’s making a pained expression, unsure of how to speak to him. Usually, a witty one-liner is all he needs to keep a conversation moving. But outside the business, when it’s just him and someone else, he remembers how awkward small talk can be.

To his surprise, Vergil does lower his book, making eye contact for the first time in a while. He lowers his face, gaze trained on Nero.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Conversation? Yeah, go figure.”

“I’m not used to this shit,” he continues after a beat, gesturing around him. “I dunno how you can like it so quiet.”

“I have my moments, I suppose.”

“When you’re not slaughtering everything that walks?”

“That is only one facet of things, yes.”

“And the other?”

“As much as one might like to, people cannot be chalked up to simple, flat sides, each one a piece of their personality. Some are boring, and predictable, and yet, even they contain a modicum of psyche worth evaluating.”

Nero looks away, bemused.

“Kyrie said you were something of a philosopher. Didn’t know you thought of anyone as _ worthy,  _ though.”

“They’re often not. Even pearls of knowledge can be gleaned from simple creatures, however.”

Sensing he has no reply, Vergil picks up his book again. Nero doesn’t know where to look. He’s relieved, though. Vergil’s eyes are uncomfortable to look into, even for a few seconds. He shares Dante’s blue-grey hue, but his are colder. They’re constantly evaluating and judging the things around him, and that includes people. Seeing his eyebrows unfurrowed earlier is even more strange now that they fit back into their creased groove, assuming what Nero thinks is a constant scowl.

“You’re staring.”

It’s a statement, and not a nice one, with Vergil’s tone taking on ice. Nero shrugs.

“Got nothing else to do.”

“Try reading something for once.”

“No thanks. Poetry ain’t my thing.”

“Then read the van’s manual.”

He looks at him quizzically, head jerking back in confusion.

“What, does it have somethin’ important to say?”

“Only how to properly use and maintain the vehicle. There’s a lot you could learn if you stopped relying on brute strength behind your wrench.”

Nero scoffs, getting up from his seat.

“Don’t you ever have something positive to say?”

“Positivity only serves to make one weak. Pessimism is where true objectivity is found.”

Incredulous, Nero shifts his weight. Silence.

“I don’t know what Kyrie sees in you.”

Vergil is nonplussed, so Nero continues.

“She thinks you’re this smart guy, but all I see is someone who reads books and thinks he’s qualified to live everyone else’s life.”

“I’ll be more than happy to oblige you in a fight, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Saying this while not looking up sets something off inside of him. It’s not just something, though. It’s anger.

“That’s how you deal with your problems?”

He turns the page and stops, taking in a contemplative breath.

“When you live… as I have, that type of response is normal. Perhaps my mind does not control my mouth as often as it should.”

Okay, that was… unexpected.

Nero scratches his neck, unsure of how to respond.

“Uh, you go to therapy? That last part doesn’t sound like you. At all, actually.”

“They’re my own words, but another’s insight.”

Vergil pauses, putting his book down with his thumb to mark his place. He avoids Nero’s eyes.

“... Kyrie is quite helpful that way.”

“Oh.”

Now Vergil is awkward. It’s the same kind of weirdness he’d felt in the van after the Qliphoth incident, him drawing his lips back and looking everywhere but someone’s face. Guess it makes sense that if anyone could break through his standoffish nature, it would be Kyrie. Nero stiffly sits back down, unsure.

“You, uh, have a lot of talks with her?”

“...”

Vergil doesn’t respond immediately. When it feels like he won’t say anything at all, Nero leans back into the chair and breathes out, filling the silence. The quiet is suffocating, now.

“I am not used to companionship,” his father states, voice soft. The hard edges of his tone are smoothed down when he speaks. He swallows. “However, she has proven to be very judicious and fair. This, I admire.”

Nero chances a look at him and Vergil responds, looking away at first but finally settling on contact. It makes him uncomfortable, he realizes, to look at him and remember they’re related.

“You have chosen a wonderful partner for yourself.”

It’s genuine when he says it. Even wistful. Nero shifts and crosses his arms, thumbing his nose once.

“Hey, c’mon, it’s weird hearin’ you be so nice. I think I miss when you wanted to fight.”

It’s only half-joking and Vergil lets slip a crooked smile. He blinks when he does it, like the two gestures go together, and a dimple appears on his cheek.

Kyrie comes in then, two mugs in her hands, surprising both of them. They look away to diffuse what was (maybe?) a bonding moment and she sets tea down for them, condensation beading on the rims of the cups. She leaves without saying anything, much to their dismay, and Vergil sips at the still-hot tea with his free hand.

They sit in silence once more, the air less stifling, until Vergil clears his throat and speaks up.

“Have you noticed any changes in her recently?”

“Huh? Like what?”

He smiles once more, wryly this time. Nero looks at him quizzically.

“If you know what to look for, the answer is obvious. I don’t expect you to see it right away, however.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

Kyrie passes by the doorway carrying a vase full of cut flowers. As she passes, Vergil looks at the vase, then to her face, and finally back to Nero. One eyebrow moves upward.

Kyrie. Flowers. The vase. What was he implying?

Nero works his jaw, staring at the floor like it will give him answers.

Kyrie. Flowers. The vase.

He looks up without knowing he’s done it, eyebrows furrowed in what feels like a Vergil expression.

“Are you… is she...?”

He waves his hand in a circular motion, formulating his thoughts into the air. Vergil nods once, index finger resting against his temple, thumb under his chin. Before he goes too far into his head, Nero looks back at him, appraising.

“She told you, but not me?”

His expression becomes neutral.

“She does not have to. All of the signs are there, but doubtless she has confided in anyone why her feet have begun swelling or she eats less than she used to.”

A new sensation pops up in his gut. Fear? Or maybe uncertainty? It lights the tips of his fingers on fire and he has to remind himself to breathe. Vergil keeps his eyes on him, evaluating his face for emotions.

“How does that make you feel?” he asks, blinking slowly. He’s being careful.

“Guilty,” Nero answers, then mentally kicks himself for responding too quickly. He closes his eyes and breathes purposefully, lowering his head and letting out a difficult noise. Vergil doesn’t move.

“Do you feel as if you have tainted her? Taken away her exit from you, perhaps?”

“It’s not that,” he answers, lifting his head. “I’m not that self-deprecating.”

“Then, what is the root of your discontent?”

Roots. He cringes.

“Uh,” he starts, tapping his hands against his thighs.

“I don’t know. Kinda sick.”

Vergil nods.

“Normal.”

“What part of this is normal?”   
He stands and puts his hands behind his head, surveying the molding of the wall. He feels hot.

Vergil stays where he is for a moment, watching him react, before he moves. He slides a bookmark into his page, sets it aside, and stands before him, reaching for him hesitantly, at first, then lightly lays two hands on his biceps. He’s tall. Taller than he remembers, actually. Taller than Dante. As tall as V.

“Nero,” Vergil says, breathing out when he does.

“You have a responsibility to carry on your grandfather’s legacy.”

“Legacy?”

Nero pulls away from him, eyes stinging.

“Is that all that is to you? An obligation to carry on the species?”

“Yes. Whether we wish to or not, the sons of Sparda must continue his bloodline. Without that strength, the human world would be lacking an aegis.”

“... That’s all we are, huh? Just meat shields for bullets from Hell?”

He nods, no hint of irony. Nero scoffs and faces the wall.

He hears the crunch of leather and footsteps. He turns to face the argument when he’s swept off his feet and into the air, pulled up by his shirt and face-to-face with his father.

“Are you going to pull yourself together,” he snarls, “And be a man? Be the man she needs you to be or leave.”

“Let go of me,” he growls, forcing a hand onto his arm. Vergil pries it off but he responds with more vigor, wrenching himself back down and drawing his gun. Vergil laughs at it, face amused.

“And what do you intend to do with that?”

“Nothin’ you’ll like.”

He flicks open the cylinder, sees the bullets there, then flicks it back, thumbing back the hammer.

“It’s made to take down demons.”

Frowning, Vergil crosses his arms.

“Your temperament is volatile. I doubt this is what you wish to bring to a new family.”

“And what would you know about family, huh?” he asks, venom in his words. “You never had one with my mom. You never even tried. You just left her to fend for herself in a world that hated her!”

“Ah.”

He chuckles, tilting his head.

“So that’s what this is about.”

“Did you even feel anything for her? Or did you just choose her because she trusted you? Thought you’d stay with her?”

He steps closer, the barrel of his gun trained on Vergil’s forehead.

“What kind of man makes a kid he won’t take care of?”

“You think I have to answer that?” Vergil replies, unflinching. “I owe you nothing, child. I owe your mother even less.”

“Then what makes you think,” he spits, moving purposefully forward, “I have to listen to your preachin’?”

The barrel nearly touches his skin, gleaming metal reflecting the light from the reading lamp. A nearby fan blows the pages of his book.

“Put down the gun, Nero,” Vergil instructs, looking down his nose. “You don’t want to start something you cannot hope to finish.”

“Oh yeah? Remind me who beat your ass back down to Hell. Sure wasn’t Dante.”

Vergil responds by knocking the gun from his hand, summoning a thick, shining sword into his grip and, upon distancing himself, pointing the tip at Nero’s throat. The gun clatters to the floor, echoing off the walls as it slides to a halt some feet away.

“Nero?”

Both of their gazes flash to the doorway.

Kyrie stands there, hands clasped in front of her face, looking at the scene with horror. To his surprise, Vergil disengages immediately, flicking his wrist and breaking the sword, effectively unsummoning it. He moves backwards on his heels, distancing further from his son. Nero, trusting himself to move quickly, rushes to Kyrie and holds her by the shoulders.

“Kyrie, go upstairs,” he says, comforting her.

“What’s happening?” she asks, desperation cloying her voice. He makes to respond but Vergil speaks up before he can.

“Treasure your time, Nero,” he declares, narrowing his eyes. “You’ll find you’ll have much less of it than you anticipated.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, clenching his fists, head lowered. Kyrie whispers something he doesn’t hear.

“Your mother,” he says, catching Nero off-guard.

“Never wanted me to stay. Fortuna was full of fools, yet she was not one of them. She knew precisely the kind of creature which lurked there in its shadows, pondering the advantages to be had among its populace. It was she who saw the Devil within me, and she who agreed to carry on the name of Sparda. Whether she lives to regret her decision, I do not know. But I do know she understood more than those false prophets of your church the consequences of letting our blood run dry.”

He lifts his chin, staring with eyes that try to burrow into his marrow.

“Ours is not a family of trepidation. We do what we do for the continuation of humanity and those devils who would live amongst them, propagating the future. When The Protectors leave Vie di Marli to the darkness, and when the Hunters abandon the streets to be swallowed by scourge, who will push back the underworld?”

He levels his gaze, unblinking and piercing.

“Who, then, will stop the likes of me from rising again and killing the world?”

Turning away, he walks out of the room.

“You’d do well to remember that.”

With a loud click, the front door opens and shuts, leaving the house.

Nero looks to Kyrie, instinctively inspecting her for injuries.

“You alright?” he asks. She’s shaking, her hands trembling as they slide into his.

“Where is he going?” she responds, looking at him wide-eyed. “Will he be okay?”

“He can fight,” Nero answers, looking after the door. “He can take care of himself.”

“Nero.”

He turns to her, alarmed. She’s standing with her feet planted, shoulders resolute.

“Go after him,” she states firmly. “He can’t be alone.”

“What? Why would I?”

“Because he’s hurt!” she cries, taking his hands in hers and shaking them.

“The reason he split himself apart was because no one was there to help!

Nero groans, cursing under his breath.

“What do I have to clean up after him, huh? Everywhere I go, I see a trail of his shit leading away from the scene. It’s like I’m always in his shadow.”

“Isn’t that how Dante feels?” she responds quietly. Nero lets his expression soften, his shoulders falling from their defensive stance.

“Sorry,” he says, and means it. “I ain’t used to all of this family drama.”

She leans against him and squeezes his arm.

On the stand beside the lamp sits Vergil’s book. Nero pulls on his coat and retrieves his gun, inspecting it for damage before sliding it back into the holster.

“I’ll be back,” he states, leaving out the door just as Vergil had done. Kyrie stands there, watching his afterimage for a moment, then sighs lightly. The fan blows the book’s pages again. Curious, she lifts it carefully by the spine and reads the title to herself.

_ Families and Estrangement. _


End file.
